The Ghost of 221B
by longlosttimelady
Summary: John Watson had long had a nagging suspicion that 221B Baker Street was haunted. The only problem was that he didn't believe in the supernatural, until he was dragged along on a case that would change everything.


John Watson had long had a nagging suspicion that 221B Baker Street was haunted. The only problem was that he didn't believe in the supernatural, until he was dragged along on a case that would change everything.

XXX

It had started out as a normal Thursday afternoon. They had solved a case the previous day and Sherlock had mysteriously vanished. John had quickly learned that Sherlock vanished a lot, and the more he got to know his new flatmate the less it surprised him. Sherlock was very eccentric and had a tendency to dash off after some passing thought without warning. It wasn't as if he did this every day, or even every week, and Sherlock would certainly not say that he vanished a lot (at least not anymore), but compared to what would be considered a "normal" person, he vanished a lot.

For two years now John had been just brushing it off and would enjoy his mad-genius-free time, except of course when weird things would happen of their own accord. It was never anything big, or overly noticeable, but odd things did happen when John was alone, or at least that is how it seemed to him- maybe because when Sherlock was in the room little else could seem odd. He couldn't help noticing how he would suddenly have slightly less tea than the last time he picked up his cup, or the television would suddenly change channels.

Sherlock vanishing unexpectedly from their flat had never caused John to worry much, until about two weeks ago, after he discovered a collection of stories written by a Dr. John H. Watson about his friend and colleague Sherlock Holmes. At first John had thought that someone had just decided to write and publish some fictional stories about him and his friend, but then he had done some research and discovered that the books had been first published over a hundred years ago and everything in them was (more or less) true. John was shocked to read about their Victorian era counterparts and how similar they were. He had been intrigued at first to read about them and their adventures, and especially about Holmes's genius deductions, until he had gotten to a story titled "The Final Problem", at which point he found that he suddenly became very overprotective of his Sherlock out of fear that he would somehow share Holmes's fate and leave another Dr. Watson all alone in the world. This made him much more worried whenever Sherlock would suddenly vanish. (Once he had even lost it when Sherlock finally returned and yelled at him about disappearing without telling him and what might happen if John didn't know where he was. Sherlock had scoffed at this and told John that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, when he needed to.)

He never told any of this to Sherlock of course, although he did vaguely notice that their non-existent ghost didn't seem to like the stories too much. He would set the book down to drink from his tea and eventually find it underneath the sink or hidden in Sherlock's underwear drawer. One time he had found it the next day to discover that it had been used for target practice, which Sherlock couldn't have done because John had had his gun with him all day while they split up to catch a couple murder suspects, plus the bullets seemed to have been fired from an old revolver.

Now back to this Thursday afternoon.

John had been startled to hear Sherlock's voice suddenly announce (seriously, he must have been part fairy or something because he almost never made _any_ noise while going up and down the stairs) that they had a case. Apparently a small town just outside London had been having some vampire trouble.

Within an hour they were packed and on their way to a small inn in the centre of the town.

"Sherlock," John asked without looking at his friend.

"Yes, John?"

"You said vampires were murdering people."

"Yes, I did. Although really, John, you mustn't take it literally. Obviously it is just someone trying to make it look like vampire attacks; some kind of fetish probably."

"So you don't think it could really be vampires then?"

"Of course not." John turned his head just in time to see a strange expression on Sherlock's face before it vanished.

XXX

Sherlock sat in the cab staring out the window. It couldn't be vampires. Not in Britain. There had been once, a long time ago, Sherlock knew that better than anyone, well, any non-vampire, but they had all been killed or driven out decades ago. The third Mycroft had helped see to that.

(I should probably mention that Sherlock was very much aware of the stories previously mentioned and the true history behind them, (most of which remains a closely guarded secret within the Holmes family) and so was every one of the original Mycroft's descendants, although how that man had managed to have descendants when he hated to even leave the house Sherlock would never know. Also, so far five of Mycroft's descendants have been named after him, all with similar desires for cake and aversions to exercise.)

The problem was the specific location of these murders. Sherlock knew that in the town was a very old house in which the Moriarty of vampires had once lived. Actually it was Moriarty. The same Moriarty that John had read about in that book and who had threatened to blow him up last year. The fact that Moriarty was back in England was bad enough, but the thought that he might have brought more vampires with him was potentially horrifying.

Unfortunately the stupid local police hadn't kept any of the crime scenes in tact so he could gain little from those, but they did at least let him see the bodies.

When the first victim was uncovered Sherlock saw John's horrified expression in his peripheral vision, and he had no trouble understanding what had inspired it. There were the telltale puncture wounds on the neck, which were actually in the right spot to spill the most blood (many imitators made the mistake of placing the puncture marks in any random place on the neck without thought as to where would draw the most blood and therefore make the vampire theory plausible, if still unlikely), but it was the chest that was truly horrifying. It had been cut open and the heart had been removed. No, not removed, burned. When Sherlock looked more closely he could see the remains of the victim's burnt heart.

The next three victims were exactly the same. Puncture wounds correctly placed on the neck with the chest opened and the heart burnt out. Everyone else was stuck on the burnt hearts ("why would anyone go to the trouble of making it look like a vampire attack and then cut open the chest to burn the heart?") but what held Sherlock's attention was what the four victims all had in common, although no one else would see the connection. Two were short and blond; the other two had neatly trimmed mustaches.

The message was clear.

That night Sherlock lay on the bed in their hotel room (apparently there were no rooms left with two beds) and let his mind wander (John always thought he was sleeping when he did this).

_Watson walked away from the falls to help a patient and he didn't have to wait long before Moriarty appeared. He spoke to Sherlock, trying to convince him to join him. When Sherlock continued to refuse the offer Moriarty bared his long fangs and said that maybe Dr. Watson would be more willing. Sherlock lunged at him. And then they were falling, down, down. Sherlock watched his body continue falling without him. Then he heard his beloved Watson's cry of "HOLMES!"_

Sherlock woke suddenly. He hadn't dreamt of that day for a very long time. He hadn't been happy when John had found the old stories, afraid that he would find out the truth, but now it seemed like something far worse had happened: Moriarty had found out.

XXX

John quickly decided that he didn't like this case. The dead bodies were bad enough, and the burnt hearts made it even worse, but the worst part was the effect that it seemed to have on Sherlock. He hadn't rattled off any deductions over the corpses, and he had hardly said a word at all since they had left the morgue. Plus he seemed reluctant to let John out of his sight, even for a minute to use the bathroom.

John thought he might understand part of the problem. He could hardly forget Moriarty's words at the pool, but this didn't seem to be related to Moriarty at all. Only two of the victims had been blond, so he didn't understand why Sherlock had become so worried about him. (Of course he didn't remember Watson's mustache, and probably wouldn't have made the connection with himself even if he did.)

John had been having a hard time sleeping when Sherlock suddenly sat up next to him.

"Sherlock? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, John. Go back to sleep."

"Bollocks, you have been acting weird ever since we saw the corpses. So just tell me what's wrong." John was starting to get angry after everything that had happened recently and his lack of proper sleep that night. When Sherlock didn't respond he just felt himself get angrier. "Dammit, Sherlock! Tell me what is wrong or I swear I will find a cab to take me home and you can finish this case on your own!"

This seemed to work because Sherlock answered quietly, "Do you remember what Moriarty said at the pool?"

"About burning your heart out? Yeah. Kind of hard to forget. But you can't honestly think this is him can you? If it was meant to be a message or something wouldn't the victims have looked even a little like you? or even me? And why here? And why vampires? I don't think this is him, Sherlock."

Sherlock mumbled something incoherent.

"What?" John felt his anger receding as he saw the same unidentifiable expression on Sherlock's face, mixed with something that John could only identify as dread.

"There are some things you are better off not knowing, John. For your own safety. But I assure you that it is most definitely Moriarty. He is not alone, but he is definitely the one behind it."

"So what do we do?" John's curiosity was growing, and he didn't see how him not knowing something had ever been for his own good, but he could tell that arguing the point with Sherlock right now would not do any good. It would have to wait for later.

"Sleep. Tomorrow you will go to the police and get as much information on the victims as those imbeciles can give you, and I will look around for more clues.

XXX

The next morning John did exactly as instructed, which was more than Sherlock had hoped for. He didn't really need any more information on the victims, it really didn't matter, not when he knew exactly who had killed them and where to find him.

He went straight to the edge of the town where a large house was situated. It was not the first time that he had seen this house. Once he had seen it Before, and a couple more times After. The house looked pretty much the same as it had a hundred years ago, except for the obvious signs of decay. It had clearly been empty ever since Sherlock, aided by the third Mycroft's men, had purged it of its inhabitants fifty years ago.

XXX

It did not take John very long to gather all of the information that Sherlock had requested, and he figured that his next step should be to meet up with Sherlock to give it to him. He called Sherlock's phone to find out where he was. No answer. He then thought about just wandering around to look for him, surely it couldn't take too long, but he had a nagging suspicion that he should find Sherlock as soon as possible, no doubt brought on by the last of Watson's stories and Sherlock's insistence that Moriarty was behind this case. John really did not want to risk a similar ending, so he gritted his teeth and did something that he knew Sherlock would not approve of.

"Hello, Dr. Watson. What can I do for you?" answered Mycroft's voice on the other end of the line.

"I need to find Sherlock, quickly. Can you tell me exactly where he is?"

"Surprising as it may seem to you, Doctor Watson, I don't know Sherlock's whereabouts every moment of the day."

"Yeah, well, can you maybe try to find out?" John was already getting annoyed with Mycroft, "and quickly. I have a bad feeling that he might have gone looking for Moriarty."

Silence on the other end, then, "John. Where are you exactly?" John told him the name of the town and more silence followed.

"I believe there is something that you should know, Dr. Watson."

XXX

Sherlock entered the old house undetected, which wasn't really very difficult for him, but it was still very useful when he wanted to look around without anyone knowing he was there. He found no signs of life (or undeadness, or whatever would be used to describe a vampire) until he entered the drawing room. There he saw Moriarty sitting in front of the fire, with a man he remembered as being Colonel Moran leaning against a wall.

XXX

Mycroft had dreaded this day ever since he had met Dr. John Watson. He had thought that it was all just a strange coincidence before then, but he had heard enough about the original Dr. Watson to know what Sherlock had seemed to know instantly.

Sherlock had insisted that John never know the truth, afraid that he would become upset and leave and Sherlock wouldn't even be able to haunt him again (of course the only reason for that would have been to protect him, exactly like last time. Sherlock would never admit any differently). Mycroft had agreed because he knew John would not believe the truth, and because it was incredibly difficult to spy on a ghost using the CCTV network, which had become necessary ever since Sherlock had learned to pass as a living human long enough to be able to assist with solving crimes again. Of course, Mycroft had then had to give Sherlock a life as well, a man who had not existed in over a hundred years would not be allowed to assist the police and that would raise far too many questions. He had done a reasonably good job at it and Sherlock had been relatively pleased with it, until he discovered that Mycroft (the fifth since the original) had made him his brother. It had seemed like a good idea, especially since he was descended from Sherlock's actual brother, and even had the same name, plus it gave him a good excuse to order people to keep an eye on him, but it seemed that, despite this, Sherlock would never forgive him for it.

And now came the moment that he had dreaded for two years. He had always known that John would have to find out at least part of it someday (he was bound to realize that Sherlock didn't age) but he had never really thought about how to tell John the rest.

He took a deep breath. "I believe that you have read the old stories that Dr. Watson wrote about Sherlock Holmes."

"Yeah, so?"

"You can hardly have failed to see the similarities that you bear to Dr. Watson."

"Yeah, and Sherlock is a lot like Holmes. So what?" John was already starting to sound annoyed. This did not bode well.

"That is because you are the same people."

"I don't have time for this Mycroft."

"I am not lying. Sherlock recognized you the moment he met you again. I don't know why you were reincarnated, or why now and not sooner, but it most certainly is true."

"Yeah, okay," John's voice was full of skepticism, "so what about Sherlock then? Was he reincarnated too? And Moriarty? Or is he a vampire?"

"Sherlock was never reincarnated after his death, but I regret to say that Moriarty is, in fact, a vampire."

"Right. So you're saying that Sherlock is some kind of ghost?"

"Yes"

Silence.

"John, you need to know the full story before you go after Sherlock."

XXX

"I wonder how Sherlock liked my little message. He could hardly have failed to understand it."

Sherlock stood in the corner of the room listening to their conversation. He had a stake hidden in his coat (he had learned quite a few useful tricks in his hundred years as a ghost) and was waiting to hear if there were any more of Moriarty's agents that he should worry about before he turned these two into dust.

"I really expected him to come over as soon as he saw it, but then again, he was never very cooperative."

"I thought we were after Watson, why are we waiting for Holmes to come to us?" said Moran. Moriarty gave him an exasperated look.

"Sherlock _is _the one we are after, you idiot. I can't have him as a vampire- unfortunate really, he would have made a very sexy one- but having such a powerful ghost on our side would be very useful. But of course the only way to get Sherlock is through John."

Sherlock's non-existent insides twisted. He knew that had been Moriarty's plan ever since the falls, but hearing it said was much worse. He was ready to stake Moriarty and Moran right then, even without knowing everything he wanted to know, when the front door crashed open. A few seconds later John came running into the room, a makeshift stake in his hand.

XXX

It had been hard to believe at first, Sherlock being a ghost, Moriarty being a vampire, and himself being the same Dr. Watson that he had read about, yet the more he thought about it, the more it seemed right. He couldn't explain why, but he felt like a part of him had always known. (Maybe not about Moriarty being a vampire, he was sure Sherlock had never told him that in any life, but the rest of it certainly.)

Still, he hadn't fully allowed himself to believe it until he came crashing into the sitting room and saw for himself. Moriarty stood up suddenly from his chair and a strange man that John didn't recognize pushed himself off the wall. When they saw the stake in his hand they both let down their fangs and John felt his heart skip a beat. He didn't see Sherlock, but he felt certain that he was in the room. Mycroft had said he could become completely invisible (a fact that explained so much from his time in Baker Street, and even some things that he was vaguely starting to remember from his previous life).

"Hello, John. Please, make yourself at home." Moriarty smiled, causing his fangs to become more visible.

John didn't move or respond.

"Come now Johnny, you can't possibly hope to kill us, or escape us, so you might as well just accept your fate and make yourself comfortable."

"And what exactly is my fate?" John replied through gritted teeth.

"We are going to turn you. You will join us, become my faithful servant, and then Sherlock will decide whether to join us too, live without you- or rather exist for all eternity without you- or kill you. Either way I win. I can't tell you how excited I was when I found out you were back, Johnny. I simply had to come back to England, the opportunity was too good to pass up."

"And what if I killed myself right here, right now? What would that do for your plan?" The thought was not a pleasant one, but it seemed to him like the only way to protect Sherlock from any of Moriarty's possible outcomes.

"Then I would just have to wait for you to come back again. You did it once, I'm certain it would happen again. And next time it would be so much easier to find you."

John's stomach twisted. He hated it, but he was certain that Moriarty was right, for whatever reason, he would come back. Only one option seemed left to him. Kill Moriarty and probably die trying.

Before he had a chance to act on his plan he saw the air in the back of the room shimmer.

XXX

Sherlock listened in horror as Moriarty spoke to John. He saw John make decision to try to kill Moriarty, which would likely get him killed too, and decided to act. No one knew he was there, which was to his advantage, so before John could act, he moved right behind Moran and stabbed him right through the heart with his stake.

Moran screamed as he turned to ash and Moriarty and John both turned to look in his direction, but before either of them could do much more, Sherlock became visible and grabbed Moriarty from behind.

He then leaned over to whisper in his ear. "You will _never_ get John." The then stabbed his stake through Moriarty's heart and watched as he turned to dust.

XXX

John didn't know how to react. Mycroft had told him that Sherlock was a very powerful ghost, and he had believed it, but actually seeing the undeniable truth before him was a bit shocking. It would have been helpful if Sherlock would just look at him. He was about to say something, anything, just to break the uncomfortable silence when Sherlock spoke.

"I'll understand if you want to leave. I won't even haunt you. Again."

"Why would I want to leave?" Of all the things he had expected Sherlock to say, this had not been one of them.

"You know what I am John. Living with me alive was hard enough for you, I guarantee living with me as a ghost would not be any easier. Plus you could never tell anyone. I know from experience how hard people find it to keep that secret, especially with my… lifestyle."

"I don't care. I don't want to lose you. Again."

"You never lost me John."

XXX

Forty years later John Watson died once again with the ghost of his best friend at his side.

Neither of them ever returned.


End file.
